


patience

by zogratiscest



Category: Naruto
Genre: Dom/sub, Domestic, Established Relationship, Incest, Introspection, Light BDSM, M/M, Shibari, Sibling Incest, Suspension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zogratiscest/pseuds/zogratiscest
Summary: in which hashirama needs assistance, and tobirama is always there for him.
Relationships: Senju Hashirama/Senju Tobirama
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	patience

The house is silent when Tobirama steps through the front door, the metallic slide of his key against the interior of the lock echoing in the living room. He pauses in the doorway, letting his eyes drift across the living room draped in cool shadows that signal the approach of the evening hours. Such quiet would naturally set him on edge if not for the savory scents of dinner in the air, drawing his attention toward the kitchen doorway.

Though the lighting is low, he can see it from here. Hashirama must be waiting for him.

A soft breath catches in his throat as he steps into the house, toeing out of his shoes for slippers and hanging up his coat. He sets his briefcase at the foot of the coat rack for now and locks up the door behind him. Every movement is telegraphed, and he makes no effort to disguise the sound of his entry so that his brother is aware that he has come home.

There is a bowl on the kitchen counter where he sets his keys, his eyes sweeping over the display set before him as a curl of warmth settles somewhere low in his gut. “Tadaima.”

“Okaeri.” The answer is whisper-soft and sends a small shiver down his spine.

Tobirama comes to stand behind one of the kitchen chairs, surveying the plate of chicken, rice, and greens set out for him along with a bottle of beer, already opened. They talked about dinner before he left, and the steam wafting off of the food tells him that cooking must have been timed carefully with his assurance that he was finally on his way home.

“Have you already eaten?” He notes the absence of another plate on the table with ease.

“Yes, Sir.” Hashirama’s head tilts toward the sink and Tobirama takes the hint, crossing the tiled flooring in slow, easy strides to check for dirty dishes.

There is only the plate and the silverware left, evidence that Hashirama has indeed eaten while the rest of the cookware used must already be in the dishwasher. He takes his time finishing the load, setting the plate in its proper place, slipping the fork and knife into the silverware rack. Soap has already been added for his convenience, so Tobirama returns to the table. He will start it after he can add his own plate to the machine.

It has been a long day of juggling childlike men and women alike, so he appreciates this.

The chair has been pulled out for him and he sits in it, tilting his head to where his brother kneels on the floor next to him. There is a thin mat beneath Hashirama’s knees to cushion them against the tile, something that Tobirama demands even though he knows Hashirama would go without on his command. Cruelty accomplishes little, and it does not earn obedience nor trust. At least, not in the vein that he wants from Hashirama.

“Thank you, Ani-ja.” He rests his head on top of Hashirama’s head, watching him shiver.

In the privacy of their own home and with no other visitors here to interrupt them, Hashirama wears only a thin yukata in a jade green shade. The material is transparent against his dark skin, one that Tobirama chose for him for moments like this when Hashirama wants to be in his company outside of the bedroom. Lord knows his brother has a beautiful body, one Tobirama has spent the better part of his life mapping with his fingers and lips and tongue, but the fabric complements his natural color beautifully.

It reminds Tobirama of the greenery of the plants he tends around the house and the garden he has outside. In low lighting like this— just a smattering of candles arranged carefully on the table top— he glows, a wood nymph on his knees at Tobirama’s side.

“You’re welcome, Sir.” The title slips perfectly from Hashirama’s tongue, and Tobirama rewards him, combing his fingers through the heavy chestnut fall of his hair. It falls fine and straight around his face and his broad shoulders, and Tobirama is always forcing himself to stop touching it, to stop toying with it. But right now, he can indulge himself.

He presses two fingers to Hashirama’s temple and tilts his head, letting it rest against his thigh as he turns to his plate. Hashirama has eaten, and he should as well.

Idly, he checks his phone, ensuring the last of his work emails sent correctly and that Izuna will actually have the report on time for tomorrow’s meeting before he turns the device off entirely. No one will be able to reach him tonight. They can leave a message, but he needs to know for his own comfort that his business will not burn to the ground.

The chicken is tender and juicy, the rice fluffy, the greens seasoned well. Tobirama makes a noise of appreciation and slips a hand down to stroke Hashirama’s hair, smiling faintly when a soft sigh answers him. He can feel the moment Hashirama leans against him fully, relaxing into his touch and his presence, letting himself go for just a moment.

Tobirama is the only person to ever earn this from him, and he relishes it.

When the plate has been cleaned and set in the dishwasher, Tobirama turns to study his brother from the distance. Back straight, head bowed, hands resting palms-up on broad thighs. The yukata does not reach down the full length of them, giving him a beautiful view of glossy bronzed skin to mark up with his teeth and lips at his leisure.

Long dark hair hides Hashirama’s face from view, but not fully. Tobirama can see the edges of his patient expression, can read it in the slopes of his shoulders.

He breaks the silence between them, shifting his weight quietly. “Ani-ja, do you have a request for this evening? I don’t recall you mentioning this when I messaged you.”

“My apologies.” Hashirama bows his head deeper, long locks whispering against the fabric of his yukata. “It is still difficult to ask on the phone. I’ll do it correctly next time.”

“You won’t be punished for this offense. I understand it’s still difficult for you.” Tobirama watches the slow rise and fall of his back with each intake of breath, taking in the gleam of the candlelight on his dark hair. Truly, Hashirama is a beautiful man. “Shall we go up?”

This time, Hashirama looks at him. Dark eyes seek him out across the kitchen and Tobirama permits this, allowing Hashirama to lean on him, to serve as his foundation in these quiet moments. It is what he wants most, after all. “Please, Sir.”

Tobirama takes his time walking back across the kitchen, every step slow and measured, without ever dropping Hashirama’s gaze. He crouches down next to him, not needing to brace himself against the floor to avoid losing his balance. If he slips, Hashirama will catch him. Tobirama trusts him with that much, and more. He trusts him especially like this.

“Ani-ja.” He brushes the tips of his fingers along Hashirama’s jaw, drinking in the way his eyelids flutter shut. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely. Will you let me repay you?”

Hashirama looks up at him through heavy lids and dark lashes, all soft and shaky breaths as he nods against Tobirama’s hand. “Please,” he says again, breathy and sweet.

Tobirama extinguishes the candles before offering Hashirama his hand, helping him up from the mat and catching him when he wavers slightly on his feet. Today must have been an especially rough day for him, but Tobirama is here now, and he understands, and together the two of them will help him strike a balance once more.

Navigating the house in the dark is a skill both of them possess, but Tobirama keeps one of Hashirama’s hands held firmly in his as he guides him up the staircase to their playroom. The door is locked, the key secreted away beneath one of Hashirama’s plants so that he never needs to worry about retrieving it before they make it here. The click of the lock is deafening in the quiet of the hallway, but Tobirama pays it little mind.

He replaces the key and drops Hashirama’s hand, cupping the back of his neck and urging him over the threshold. “Go and choose what you want me to use on you tonight, Ani-ja.”

Hashirama steps into the room and Tobirama follows after him, locking the door.

There are various lights set up around the room for him to use as he sees fit, but he focuses on the dimmer switch on the wall, giving the room a faint golden glow as he waits for Hashirama to make a choice. The candles were an obvious signal that Hashirama needs the dark, the quiet, the peace, and Tobirama is willing to give that to him. His primary needs are met when Hashirama is lax and warm in his embrace, after all.

He sits on the toy trunk at the foot of the bed when he realizes Hashirama has gone for the chest on the far side of the room, reclining against the footboard as he waits. From here, he can admire how the yukata shifts against the back of Hashirama’s thighs.

When Hashirama crosses the room to him, he does so in quick strides and falls to his knees hard enough that Tobirama frowns at the impact on the floor. The implement that is draped lovingly across his lap is a familiar one, and he runs his fingers over the coils of soft cotton rope while Hashirama lowers his head once more, picture perfect as he waits.

“Look at me.” Tobirama’s voice is stern. Hashirama’s eyes flick up to him instantly. “Be gentle with yourself, Ani-ja. The only one allowed to cause you pain in this room is me.”

Hashirama wets his lips, soft color picking up along the sharp lines of his cheekbones. It takes so little, but Tobirama revels in it just the same. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He catches a lock of hair between his fingers, rolling the silky strands before giving it a sharp tug. Hashirama’s head jerks slightly with the movement.

There are several coils of rope kept in the chest of drawers, a multitude of colors that Tobirama has chosen over the years for various purposes and his own flights of fancy. There coils are a simple white cotton, the longest he possesses, and the ones he tends to utilize when Hashirama wants to be restrained and suspended. Shibari is an art form, and Tobirama is a patient man, more than capable of each intricate knot he favors.

Today has been a bad day for Hashirama, indeed. Tobirama will sweeten the end of it.

“Turn around.” He sets the rope to the side for now. All good things in time.

Hashirama obeys him presenting Tobirama with his straightened back. Every muscle is tense beneath his skin, either with anticipation or stress— It could be either at this point. Tobirama brushes a hand along the curve of his shoulder, pressing his heel in to feel the shift of muscle beneath his touch. Such a powerful and strong man, kneeling at his feet and awaiting his next command. It would be enough to inflate anyone’s ego.

“Very good.” He slips a hand into the pocket of the yukata, fingers closing around the elastic band he finds there with a satisfied sound. Hashirama came prepared.

The elastic goes around his wrist. He takes his time, combing his fingers through all of that long, luxurious hair as he gathers it between his fingers. Hashirama is quiet through the process, his shoulders slowly relaxing as Tobirama plays with his hair, combing it into equal sections so he can braid it back out of his face. Easier to focus on knot work when his brother’s hair is not getting twisted up in the ropes. Unnecessary pain in this moment.

He curls the hair around his fingers and kisses it, the sound pronounced enough for Hashirama to shiver where he kneels. “Thank you for being patient, Ani-ja.”

“Of course, Sir.” Hashirama does not bow his head, but Tobirama can see the half-second in which he catches himself to avoid doing it. He’d pull at the roots that way.

Tobirama ties the braid off with the elastic and picks up the ropes, rising to his feet. “Take your yukata off and follow me. Prepare for it to take some time.”

He admires the fluid grace with which Hashirama stands as he disrobes, yukata puddling at his feet and revealing every inch of bare skin to Tobirama’s hungry eyes. There is no part of him that is not beautiful, all that dark skin and the curls of coarse hair on his chest that spill down to his groin. He’s already half-hard without being touched and Tobirama licks his lips, fingers twitching with the urge to touch him just to hear what sound he might make for him. But that can come later. First, the ropes.

The bar is positioned on the opposite side of the room, and Tobirama lowers it within reach as he drops the coils onto the floor. “Kneel. You will change position as necessary.”

“Yes, Sir.” This time, Hashirama kneels slowly, thighs spread wide, looking up at him.

“Good, Ani-ja.” Tobirama leans down, cupping his cheek to draw him just a little closer, feeling the warmth gathering beneath his fingertips as he presses just the barest hint of a kiss to Hashirama’s waiting lips. “Now breathe and let me work.”

Shibari is an artform, though not necessarily an easy one. It takes patience and time and careful work, but Tobirama is just the person for such a task. The white cotton is stark and vivid against Hashirama’s skin, and the way his brother shivers at the touch of it alone is enough to make Tobirama’s pulse beat just a little faster.

Slow work, thorough work, but this never fails to nudge him toward being excited.

“Be still for me,” he murmurs, and Hashirama blinks up at him, languid and slow, while he drapes the rope just so and begins the first knot. “You know I’ll take care of you.”

Hashirama is the strongest man that Tobirama has ever known, but every human has their breaking points and those who know how to draw them back from those. He centers Hashirama with the brush of his fingertips, the tightening of the ropes, the intricacy of the knots that gather pearlescent against his skin in neat, even ridges.

His body is a canvas and just this once, Tobirama plays the part of an artist.

“On your stomach,” he murmurs, pleased when Hashirama obeys him, tumbling down to the hardwood, offering Tobirama his arms without being asked. “Very good. Thank you.”

Suspension is just as much of an art as shibari itself, though Tobirama takes it much more seriously. He does his best to ensure there is no sharp pressure that will cause pain he does not intend, that Hashirama’s limbs are not twisted and contorted at the wrong angles.

He takes his care as he draws Hashirama’s wrists back behind his head, as he bends Hashirama’s knees. When the knot work is secure and Tobirama is pleased with the position, he loops the ends of the ropes over the beam, securing them tightly so that none of them will slip. Falling at such a height will cause injury. He is certain of that.

“Very good.” He plants a kiss on Hashirama’s calf, pressing into the muscle there just to watch his brother shiver for him. “I’m going to lift you now. How do you feel about that?”

“Um.” Hashirama takes a slow, deep breath, his exhale fogging up the floor. “Oak.”

Tobirama nods, smoothing his fingers along Hashirama’s calf, skipping the ticklish back of his knee to caress a bit of skin between his knots. “All right. Tell me when.”

He watches Hashirama’s muscles soften beneath his touch as his fingers flutter from patch of skin to patch of skin, slipping under the ropes here and there to test them. There are no flaws, but there never have been. Tobirama is careful with him, careful with the man who means so much to him, the man he would never want to hurt— Unless Hashirama asks him for pain. In which case, Tobirama is more than happy to provide it.

His eyes drift toward the rack of canes nearby speculatively as he pets down Hashirama’s spine, listening to his breathing. Nice and slow and even, just like Tobirama likes.

“Sir?” Hashirama looks toward him and Tobirama hums in answer so he knows he’s listening, fingers stilling along the curve of one shoulder blade. “I… Blindfold, please?”

“All right.” Tobirama kisses him on the temple and stands to retrieve one.

There are plenty of options, but he chooses a white one to match the ropes and returns to Hashirama’s side to slip it over his eyes. He prefers elastic blindfolds with no knots to worry about catching, ones that can easily be yanked off at a moment’s notice and that fit to the shape of Hashirama’s face. Every touch his gentle, lifting his head to slip it on, laying his head back down, stroking along the thick braid of his hair.

“Okay.” Hashirama leans toward his touch and Tobirama gives it freely. “Spruce.”

“Very good.” This time, Tobirama stands so he can raise the bar up into the air.

Hashirama is not a small man, not by any stretch of the imagination, but Tobirama ordered this equipment with him in mind and ensured it would be safe for him. Satisfaction blooms in his chest when it eases up into the air, the soft clink of the metal chains a small symphony of devotion in their own right. The ropes are pulled taut, and Hashirama slowly rises into the air, limbs lifted before the rest of his body.

Arms folded behind his head, one leg lifted higher than the other, white ropes blazing against his skin. Gorgeous from head to toe and so completely his that it aches.

Tobirama locks the bar in place and returns to Hashirama’s side once more, not touching him. He just looks at him, taking in his stretched limbs and the knots on his flesh and the way his breathing shivers faintly as he settles himself into this new position.

“Beautiful,” Tobirama whispers, and Hashirama shivers all over at the sentiment. “Shall I leave you here to rest, Ani-ja? I’ll be nearby the moment you need me to let you down.”

“Ah…” Hashirama tilts his head toward the sound of Tobirama’s voice, and Tobirama is there a moment later, fingers tracing his jaw once more. “Kiss, please, Sir?”

Hashirama cannot see the way Tobirama’s face softens at the request, the aching fondness that drags at the corners of his mouth and threatens to let a soft, warm chuckle slip from his throat. It takes him a moment to smooth out his expression before he grants the request, tilting his head to bring their lips seamlessly together.

The kiss is slow and languid and warm. Tobirama takes his time, fingers pressed against Hashirama’s jaw to keep him still, waiting until his mouth goes slack to lick between his warm lips. Hashirama whines softly and Tobirama swallows the sound, coaxing his brother’s tongue to curl around his own. He can taste a faint hint of mint on his tongue and wonders if Hashirama brushed his teeth after he ate. He wouldn’t put it past him.

“Rest.” He strokes Hashirama’s cheek one more time and takes a step back, letting Hashirama settle into the cradle of the ropes Tobirama prepared for him. “I’ll be right here when you want to be let down. Just let me know.”

Tobirama is quiet as he lays down on the floor beneath his brother, folding his arms under his head as he looks up at him. The quiet stretches between the two of them as he matches his breathing to Hashirama’s, the smooth deep pulls and soft sighing exhalations. When he wants down, Tobirama will be here with open arms. Until then, he admires Hashirama hanging above him, lips lifted into a fond smile he reserves just for him.

Tobirama is a patient man. He can wait as long as Hashirama needs him to.

**Author's Note:**

> soft hashitobi is soft.


End file.
